Page 164 of Check & Chase
“I’m trying to be different. To learn from my mistakes. To understand what you need from a partner, not just what I think you should want.”
She takes a slow sip of her latte, studying me. “And what do you think I need?”
It’s a test, I realize. “Respect. For your choices, your autonomy, your right to make decisions about your own life. Support that doesn’t become control. Partnership that doesn’t mean morphing your identity into mine.”
Her eyebrows raise slightly. “Have you been reading relationship books or something?”
“Or something. Mostly just thinking. A lot. About why I did what I did, about what it really means to love someone versus trying to possess them.”
“That’s surprisingly self-aware.”
“I’ve had nothing but time to think. Time and regret and the constant awareness that I threw away the best thing in my life because I was too arrogant to trust you with your own choices.”
She looks down, processing my words. “It hurt. Not just the breakup, but the way you did it. Like my opinion didn’t matter, like you thought you knew what I needed better than I did.”
“I know. There’s no excuse for it, Emma. I was wrong. Completely, utterly wrong.”
“Then why did you do it? Really?”
The question demands a level of honesty I’ve barely admitted to myself. But if we have any chance of rebuilding, that honesty is essential.
“I was scared. Not just of what might happen to your career because of me, but of what it meant to be so completely invested in someone else. To have so much of my happiness dependent on you. It was easier, in some twisted way, to make the choice myself than to risk you eventually deciding I wasn’t worth the trouble.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “You thought I would leave?”
I let out a breath, slow and shaky. “Somewhere deep down, yeah. I think I was waiting for the moment you’d figure out I wasn’t worth it. That you’d start tallying up all the ways I make your life harder and realize the smart move would be walking away. So I did it first.”
“I never saw you that way. As not good enough. As someone I’d eventually give up on. I love you, Chase. All of you.”
Not loved. Love. Present tense.
The words hit me like sunlight cracking through a storm.
“I’m trying to believe that. I want to. It’s just… trust is hard when you’ve spent your whole life bracing for the moment people stop choosing you.”
“From the scandal with your previous PT?”
I nod. “Partly. Being manipulated, blackmailed, nearly losing everything because someone I trusted turned on me… it left scars. But what happened in the past doesn’t justify hurting you.”
Emma’s quiet for a moment, tracing the rim of her cup with one finger. Her eyes drop, and something shifts in her expression.
“I need to say something. I forgive you, Chase, but I also owe you an apology.”
“Emma, you don’t—”
“No, I do.” Her fingers tighten around her cup. “When you mentioned taking a break, I wasn’t listening properly. I was stressed about potentially losing my job, about everything being in the spotlight. And when you said ‘break,’ that’s all I heard. Part of me was waiting for this to fall apart, too. We started with fake dating, and there was always this voice in the back of my head wondering if any of it was real. So when you suggested a break, it confirmed every fear I had—that this was just another performance that had run its course.”
My chest tightens. I want to tell her she was wrong, that none of it was fake for me. Not even for a second. But the guilt sits heavy, because I let her believe it.
Tears start welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Chase. I should have fought harder. I should have made you explain what you really meant. Instead, I just accepted it and walked away—”
I can’t take it anymore. I lean across the table and press my lips to hers, silencing the flood of words. It’s gentle but firm, a kiss that says everything I don’t have words for. When I pull back, her eyes are wide.
“You’re cute when you’re rambling,” I tell her softly, reaching up to brush a tear from her cheek.
That breaks the dam. Tears flow freely now.
“I’m so sorry for everything. Being without you was so difficult.”
